THE GUILTY ONES a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists Page 12

  ‘Shut up, Dale. They said it was urgent. The least you can do is listen to what they have to say.’

  ‘They’ve never said anything important before,’ Dale grumbled. He turned his back on them. ‘You talk to them if you want, but leave me out.’

  ‘I’m Susie. You’d better come in.’

  She led the way to a small sitting room, crammed with furniture. Sofas, armchairs, dining chairs and beanbags took up every square inch. Sue gestured to a seat. ‘Sorry about my brother. He still feels very strongly, as we all do, that the police let us down badly.’

  ‘The case was before my time, Susie, but I have to say that we do respect your family for continuing to campaign for your brother Brendan.’

  Susie’s expression softened very slightly. ‘He never killed that girl, Detective. He was a sweet, sweet boy. He couldn’t even put an injured bird out of its misery, and he cried for days when our dog died. You never knew him, but I did. I loved my brother and I know, deep in my heart, that he never hurt Lyndsay Ashcroft. He just wasn’t capable of it.’

  She was clearly sincere. But her love for her brother didn’t make him an innocent man.

  ‘Susie, we really need to speak to your mother. Is that possible?’ Marie asked. ‘It’s very important.’

  Susie looked uncertain. ‘Our mum . . . she’s ill, very ill. I don’t want her bothered. Can’t you tell me? And maybe . . . no, I’ll get Yvette and Kenny. They are with Mum now. Whatever you have to say, you can tell us together.’

  She left the room. Jackman frowned at Marie. ‘They are all here, even the married ones. What does that tell you?’

  ‘That the mother is dying,’ Marie said flatly. ‘Ever felt like a sitting duck?’

  ‘Never so much as right now,’ he whispered. ‘This, as the super said, is going to be tricky!’

  Susie came back into the room, alone.

  ‘Mum wants you both to go up and see her, but—’

  ‘We’ll try not to tire her out, I promise.’ Jackman looked at her, his expression compassionate. ‘She’s very poorly, isn’t she?’

  Susie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘She’s not got long.’ She swallowed loudly. ‘But she’s a very strong woman, and she says she wants to hear what you have to say.’

  They followed Susie up a steep staircase and into the front bedroom. It was uncomfortably warm. Jackman saw a small open fire on the far side of the room, burning brightly in a cast-iron grate.

  Sheila Symons was propped up in bed against a mound of pillows. Her face was sallow and gaunt, but her eyes were shrewd and bright.

  Susie pointed to a tall and skinny, dark-haired woman. Like her sister, she wore faded jeans and a sweater. ‘This is Yvette, and my brother Kenny.’ She gestured to a rather mousey man who sat close to his mother, holding her hand.

  ‘Mum? This is DI Jackman and DS Marie Evans. They are from Saltern-le-Fen, and they want to talk to you.’

  ‘Get them something to sit on.’ The old woman’s voice was cracked but strong, her tone said she was used to having her orders obeyed.

  Susie scurried off and returned with two straight-backed chairs.

  Jackman noted that Dale was not in the room, but he suspected that the older son was still somewhere within earshot. The other brother, Liam, was absent. He coughed. ‘Mrs Symons, we won’t take too much of your time. There has been a rather disturbing development in Saltern, and it appears to be connected to the murder of Lyndsay Ashcroft. Hence we felt the need to come in person and explain what’s happened.’

  ‘Is this “development” something that could lead to my son’s name being cleared?’

  ‘At this stage, Mrs Symons, we’re very much in the dark about what it means. I can’t give you false hope.’

  ‘I thought not.’ The woman sighed. ‘Okay, get it over with. What’s it all about?’

  Jackman glanced at Marie. She nodded very slightly. He explained that someone had taken the law into his own hands and was causing the deaths of people involved in the prosecution of Brendan.

  No one in the stuffy, hot room spoke.

  Dale burst into the room, shouting. ‘So now you are accusing us of murder too! You pigs! You’re not satisfied with wrongly accusing my brother and sending him to his death! You now come here, accusing us of taking the law into our own hands and executing the people who put my brother behind bars!’ His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared in anger. Then he stood with his hands at his sides, apparently at a loss for words, swearing under his breath.

  ‘If you’ve finished!’ His mother looked at him, hard. ‘I think that’s quite enough of that.’

  ‘You’d be just as angry if they didn’t tell you, Dale, so let’s listen, shall we?’ Yvette said. Jackman thought she seemed the most reasonable of the lot.

  Dale slumped back against the far wall.

  ‘It was necessary to warn you about this, Mrs Symons, as we’ll naturally have to make enquiries. Please be assured, we’re not targeting you or your family. We will be speaking to dozens of people involved in the old case.’

  The old woman nodded, and asked Kenny for a drink of water. ‘How are these people being killed, Detective Inspector? And who has died?’

  Jackman hesitated. They would see it in the news before long anyway, so he might as well tell them. ‘The two unnamed witnesses, who were only teenagers at the time, and the prosecuting barrister are dead. Someone hounded and terrorised them until they took their own lives.’

  There was a collective intake of breath. Yvette whispered, ‘Oh, dear God! Heather and Pauline? Both dead?’

  Marie spoke softly. ‘One drowned and the other fell to her death. You knew them?’

  Kenny looked up at them. ‘Of course we did. It’s a small community, isn’t it? We always knew, but after the trial it all came out anyway. It’s true, we did make life hard for them, but . . .’

  Sheila Symons shifted uncomfortably in her bed. ‘This is terrible news, Officers. For their families of course, but it’s also devastating for us. We will be the obvious suspects. People will think that we’ve finally decided to take our revenge. The whole thing will flare up again, and we’ll lose the goodwill of all the people that believed in our cause.’ She coughed, and the sound was rasping and painful, and she sipped more water.

  ‘We should leave.’ Jackman stood up. ‘But, please, if there is anything you can do to help us, anyone you know of who’s ever shown signs of being fanatical about what happened, and I don’t mean committed, as your family is, I mean seriously overzealous, please do contact us. We’ll leave you our details, and as I said, we will need to talk to all of you very soon. We’ll phone and make arrangements.’ He gave the old lady the warmest smile he could muster. ‘I’m sorry we’ve tired you. Please accept our sincerest apologies.’

  He thought he heard a snort of derision from Dale, but Sheila Symons nodded. ‘I appreciate you coming, even though your news is far from good. We’ll think about what you’ve asked.’

  In the hall, Jackman gave Susie his card. ‘This person is ruthless. We have to catch him. I’m just sorry that we’ll have to come back for detailed statements regarding all your whereabouts. Please do understand, they will be as much as to prove your innocence and to rule you out of our enquiries, as to assign blame. Okay?’

  Susie nodded. ‘Why? After all this time, why now?’

  ‘We don’t know, but we fear he hasn’t finished.’ Jackman’s voice was like granite. As she closed the door, he noticed that Susie looked sickly white.

  Back in the car, Jackman let out a long breath. ‘Did I do the right thing? Telling them so much?’

  ‘There was no other way, Jackman. You did what you had to do, and I think the old lady really did appreciate it. She might still believe that Brendan was innocent, but she’s no psycho killer, not that I can be quite so sure of the wild-eyed son, Dale.’ Marie pulled a face. ‘He’s a bit of a firecracker, isn’t he?’

  Jackman gave a short laugh. ‘You can say that again. I’ll
be very interested to get each of them on their own.’

  Marie started the engine. ‘You and me both, guv. I can hardly wait.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘Something bothering you, sunshine?’ Max gave Rosie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  ‘Just worried.’ Rosie didn’t react to Max’s touch.

  ‘About?’

  ‘This man. This deviant.’ She turned and looked at Max. ‘The criminals we usually get don’t bother me. I can see what makes someone rob, deceive, beat people up and generally behave badly in certain situations. Sometimes I can even get their reasons for killing. But this guy . . .’ She gave a shudder. ‘This guy is off the scale. It scares me.’

  Max pressed her shoulder again. ‘Hey! Come on! Where’s my fearless girl? He’s just another crazy. Hell, we’ve had our fair share of them over the years, haven’t we?’

  ‘I know we have, but he’s different, you must be able to see that!’ Rosie sounded almost accusing.

  Mildly concerned, Max sat down beside her. This wasn’t the Rosie he knew. ‘Of course I can see it, flower, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of getting under my skin. He’s an evil bastard and I hope we nail him before he turns someone else’s mind into mush.’

  ‘I hate the thought of someone taking advantage of another person’s weaknesses. It’s so cruel.’

  Max nodded. ‘Mind-benders. They’ve no moral values at all.’

  Rosie frowned. ‘I’m not sure he sees himself like that. I’ve been looking at the messages he left Sarah, and I swear he believes that he has some kind of divine right to punish the wrongdoers. Sure, we realise it’s all to do with the Ashcroft murder, but is he on a crusade to avenge the murder of Lyndsay, or to avenge the conviction and subsequent death of Brendan Symons?’

  Max scratched his head. ‘We need to know a lot more about that trial, don’t we?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Rosie grimaced. ‘Until we know what he’s killing for, we won’t know where to look for him.’

  ‘What if he’s just picked on that case simply because he felt that there was a serious miscarriage of justice? He may have no connections with anyone.’ Max shrugged.

  ‘Wait! He might know it was a wrong verdict, because he knew the real killer! He could even be the killer, and has been cheated out of his notoriety!’ Rosie stared at Max. ‘Is that a possibility, or am I just sleep deprived?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, but we need to keep digging.’

  ‘DC Cohen. DC McElderry.’ Ruth Crooke stood in the doorway. Her face was set. ‘I need you to follow something up for me.’

  Max and Rosie jumped up and hurried over to the superintendent.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘In the absence of DI Jackman and Marie, I need to pass something on to your team. It has been decided to tell all those who were involved in the Ashcroft trial that they could be in danger and to take precautions.’

  Max nodded. ‘Fair point, ma’am. They have a right to know if they are under threat.’

  ‘The jurors have been contacted and several people from the original prosecuting team, plus the judge who presided and passed sentence, but one man is missing from the list. We cannot locate the foreman of the jury, and to be frank, as the man who delivered the guilty verdict, he could well be the next victim.’

  ‘You want us to find him, ma’am?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘As fast as possible, DC McElderry — unless you think our man has finished playing judge, jury and executioner?’

  ‘No, Super, I don’t think he’s finished at all,’ Rosie said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him.’

  The superintendent gave them a memo with a name and an address on it, turned and strode towards the lifts. The words, ‘What part of “as fast as possible” don’t you understand?’ floated back to them in her wake.

  Max and Rosie hurried back to their desks.

  ‘I always said she had eyes in the back of her bleedin’ head,’ grumbled Max.

  ‘I see why she’s worried, though. She might have a point about this man,’ she looked at the memo, ‘Isaac Whitman, being next in line.’

  ‘Then we better get to him, hadn’t we? Before our Mighty Avenger does a mind-fuck on him.’

  Rosie winced, but made no comment. She grabbed her bag. ‘We have an address in Horncastle. Let’s start there, shall we? I’ll drive.’

  ‘Wilco.’ Patting his pockets for his phone, Max hurried after her.

  * * *

  Gary stared at the results of the inquest on Brendan Symons, and shook his head. ‘Poor little devil,’ he murmured.

  ‘You are talking about a convicted killer, Gary. Should I be worried about you?’ Charlie Button looked up from his screen.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘You doubt the verdict?’ Charlie spun his chair around to face Gary.

  ‘I see grey areas, and I hate grey areas.’ Gary swiped the printout with the back of his hand. ‘Guilty or not, this kid had never been in trouble before, then he’s thrown into the deep end of a Cat A prison. Not just any Cat A, but one that houses some of the most dangerous male prisoners in the country. No wonder he cracked.’

  ‘The inquest states that his death was given as asphyxia due to compression of the neck following hanging from a ligature. How on earth did he manage that?’ Charlie frowned.

  ‘Torn-up shirt fashioned into a rope secured round his neck, then the other end tied to the top bunk. Not difficult if you are desperate. And the blood can be cut off in as little as seven seconds so you pass out, and then die.’

  Charlie grimaced. ‘That’s horrendous.’

  ‘The governor’s report states that Brendan hadn’t reported any abuse or given them cause to monitor his safety.’ Gary snorted. ‘Not surprised. He’d have been too bloody scared to report anything. I can’t even imagine the emotional stress he went through.’

  ‘Gary? What you said about grey areas. Do you really think that lad might have been innocent?’ Charlie asked.

  Gary sat back in his chair. ‘Son, I hope that he was guilty, because then his fate would in some way be justified. But if, just if, he had told the truth, then I can totally understand why his family have carried a torch for him all these years.’

  ‘They say that unless you are a chronic recidivist, being incarcerated is pure hell, on a lot of levels. So if you were jailed for something you really hadn’t done, well . . .’ Charlie shrugged, ‘it would blow your mind.’

  ‘And prisons are high crime areas. The amount of drug-dealing, theft, robbery, assaults, threats of violence and sexual abuse is much greater than on the outside.’

  ‘And if you were squeaky clean when you went in, it would be the shock to end all shocks,’ said Charlie thoughtfully.

  Gary shuffled some papers on his desk, and pulled out a note with a name and address on it. ‘I checked this out earlier. It’s the contact details of an old lag I helped put away years back. Mackie finally saw the error of his ways and after spending half his life in various prisons, he went straight. I’ve calculated that he was inside in the same prison at the time when Brendan Symons took his own life. It’s a big prison, but news travels like wildfire in those places. I’m going to see if he remembers anything in particular about Brendan.’ He stood up and reached for his jacket. ‘Hold the fort, Charlie. He only lives on the other side of town, I won’t be long.’

  * * *

  Mackie Cairns clearly wasn’t over the moon to find Gary on his doorstep, but reluctantly invited him in.

  They went into a small sitting room that housed a television, a battered coffee table, a faded beanbag and a shabby sofa. Gary wasn’t offered tea, but from a quick glance into the kitchenette on the way in, he decided that was lucky.

  ‘I’m not after information, Mackie — well, not the sort of thing I’m usually after. I just wondered if you could recall if there was any funny business going on up in Durham when Brendan Symons hanged himself.’ Gary laid a ten pound note on the coffee table.

 
‘There’s always “funny business” going on in the big house, PC Pritchard. You should know that.’ Mackie was a tall, heavy man with unruly hair and a craggy face. After his last stint inside, he had abruptly turned his back on crime and got himself a job as a mechanic in a local garage. Considering that one of his past vocations had been as a getaway driver, he knew plenty about cars. Plus, he had kept his hand in while in prison, studying engineering.

  Gary steeled himself for the usual banter before he got an answer, but this time Mackie seemed almost reflective when he spoke about Brendan Symons.

  ‘There was a strange atmosphere in the place around the time that lad was brought in.’ Mackie eased himself down onto the beanbag, allowing Gary to have the sofa. ‘As you well know, no one’s guilty in prison, they all swear they never did it, but Brendan divided the inmates. Some of them decided he was a baby-faced assassin, a rapist and a killer, end of story. Others . . . well, others thought he was either a bloody good actor, or he really was innocent.’

  Gary nodded. ‘It was much like that on the outside, Mackie. Two camps.’

  ‘Yeah, but everything is so much more intense in the slammer. Things get out of proportion, then they turn nasty.’

  ‘And did things get bad for the kid?’

  ‘He was a pretty boy, PC Pritchard. I don’t need to spell out what that means, do I?’

  Gary shook his head. ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Thing is, someone took a fancy to him, but Brendan wasn’t having any, and he made an enemy of a very nasty man indeed. Then someone else took him under his wing, but I never believed it was out of kindness. I thought it was to get one over on Brendan’s first admirer. Whatever, it screwed Brendan’s head up even more.’

  ‘I notice you forgot to mention the names, Mackie.’

  ‘No, PC Pritchard, I didn’t forget.’

  ‘Point taken.’ Gary knew not to pursue it. He grinned. ‘As a matter of interest, which camp were you in?’

  Mackie shifted his bulk on the unstable beanbag. ‘After all the years I’ve clocked up in the can, I think I’ve learned to read between the lines.’ He looked up at Gary. ‘If he killed that girl, I’m a monkey’s uncle. And I’m no monkey.’